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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29858523">Fray</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/doublejoint/pseuds/doublejoint'>doublejoint</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>One Piece</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Established Relationship, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 00:27:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,008</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29858523</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/doublejoint/pseuds/doublejoint</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Getting out of Udon doesn't magically fix everything.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eustass Kid/Killer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Fray</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>violent imagery, killer's self-image issues</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Kid’s fingers are careful in Killer’s hair as they separate out the tangle strand by strand, and then comb through again, and then another time just to be sure. They’ll all be back again within half an hour; that’s the nature of the thing. Wearing it pulled back had made no difference, except Killer had noticed it less and combed it out less, but now that it’s freed that seems to be a good thing. It gives Kid more to do, and more than performing a necessary duty or to help out Killer, Kid’s distracting himself the same way he does by tightening and loosening the bolts on his arm, or by picking up a half-finished mechanical project and tinkering with some small detail, changing something by his own power and seeing it with his own eyes. It does help, though; Killer feels more like himself with his hair loose around his neck and over his eyes. (Maybe it doesn’t; maybe the feeling is only coming from being with Kid again, for having escaped that prison and shed his false identity, for knowing that Kid’s alright.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Though, alright is only relatively speaking; Kid is fraying at the ends like a neglected wire, ready to spark smoke and fire. His eyes are frantic; his hands the smallest bit unsteady, his pulse beating through his hand against Killer’s skin like a rolling drum rather than the usual steady bassline. He’s never one to hide his emotions or rein himself in, but he’s not usually this erratic. He centers himself in chaos, but this has thrown him off-balance, fucked up in a way and to a degree Killer hasn’t seen him since they were very young, including all the times Kid’s been fall-down drunk or covered in blood or both. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Kid breathes, his thumb catching on an unexpected snarl. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tug on Killer’s scalp is sudden, and his body forces out another laugh. He tries to bite it back, but the more he’s conscious of it the more difficult it is to stop. He’s only making it worse, underlining what he’s become in heavy ink. He can’t help it, but that’s never been an acceptable excuse; they’ve always been able to help being the monsters they are. Kid’s hand is still. Killer breathes. Kid’s fingers begin to work the strands of hair again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Killer says, just as Kid says, “It’s not your fault.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again, his hand pauses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not your fault either,” Killer says, twisting to look at Kid’s face, twisting the knife, Kid’s fingers dragging through his hair, avoiding the tangles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t want to look at Kid looking this way, and perhaps it’s cruel to make Kid look at him like this, a different kind of cruel than scoring his flesh with a blade would be. They’ve never spoken a language primarily of direct gazes, but they know each other well enough to say things like this anyway. Killer pushes his bangs to the side; suddenly, even with the bandages still stuck to his face, he’s even more overexposed. Kid looks right at him, in pain, in fear, the look Killer’s seen more often on the faces of the people Kid’s about to cut down. He swallows. Kid lets go of Killer’s hair; it swings back over his shoulder, still half-tangled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I?” Kid says, touching a stray end of the tape.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Killer nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tape’s no real substitute for a mask, too sticky, too high-maintenance, covering both too much and not enough. It doesn’t really hurt coming off, but it  makes Killer laugh again, several times, right into Kid’s hand. The outdoor air feels strange on his bare cheek, as do his nails and the pad of his thumb when he scrapes off some of the residue clinging to his skin. They’re alone, but still far from the ship, their crew, wherever they’re next headed. (It can’t be back to Kaidou, not right away; Killer will fight Kid on that with his bare fists if he needs to. He won’t, he’s pretty sure, but there’s still that look in Kid’s eyes, hard and brittle.) There’s no way for Killer to hide his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Kid’s arms are around him and Kid’s lifting him into the air, edges of the scrap metal of his makeshift wrist digging into Killer’s back. He doesn’t like being lifted up like this, not when Kid’s just showing off his raw power, but at this angle he can bury his face in Kid’s neck, press his forehead to that deep, rough scar, hide his face without a mask or bandages. Kid brushes a brief, sloppy kiss to the nape of Killer’s neck, then raises his head again, holding Killer in place with only his right arm. His pulse is still jackhammering hard and fast, from his thumb and from his heart. Killer’s blood rushes in his ears, not at quite the same pace but faster than he’d like. He keeps his mouth closed, a faded rope tied to Kid’s anchor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go back to the ship. Get some weapons. Quick as we can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before something bad happens to the rest of their crew. Before they’re too late. Even amid the chaos of Udon, bigger things for Kaidou’s lackeys to worry about, their crew could face consequences for their actions, or for simply existing in captivity. They’re strong, but they’re at a disadvantage, and Killer’s already let them down, let Kid down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re going to save them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course we will,” says Killer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mouth stretches sagain. He presses his face harder into Kid’s neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>These are things they can say without verbalizing, but the reassurance drills them in deeper and tighter, or maybe just with more screws. Sometimes that’s the kind of reinforcement they want, the thing that they feed on, that comes straight out through their hands and weapons, static communicated from Kid’s finger through Killer’s wrist guard. They’ll make this opportunity count; Kaidou will live only long enough to regret having not destroyed them when he had the chance. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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